Excavation, An Exercise

My muses are a pair of females polar opposites working for the same goal. They are sisters. One is dark water air lightning rain magic psychic vision wishes sorrowful joy depression. The other is light fire earth metal ditzy invention gadgets technology music happiness joyful sorrow.

Today I gave them a task. "Muses, "I said, "I have two and half hours left in my shift. I need something to work on, a story, something new, something fresh or even an old story that needs to be dusted off." Okay, I did not say all that in all that detail but mere words and thoughts cannot express everything in a single moment. "When you have something I should devote some time to let me know."

So as I was listening to a playlist of songs which all have a similar theme inspired by an astrology response posted on my other blog.: Magic and Dreams. Two things I have always been facinated with and have written about. Making the impossible possible, turning dreams into reality and reality into dreams.

The best way to write this is a little technique or exercise which I call an Excavation. The concept is actually inspired by Stephen King who explains in his non-fiction instructional book, On Writing. Sai King says or writes that stories are not just words on a page but artifacts or fossils buried in the desert of your mind(I'm adding my own interpretaion here as I do not have the book in front of me), and writing is a slow painstaking process of isolating the artifact, cutting away everything that is not the story and assembling or revealing what is the story.

Now, I am going to do an excavation, sift through the sands of my mind to find the story that the muses, using their magic to see the story and guide me through the process.


Splash. Splosh. Spli-spli-spli-splish.
Rings. Concentric rings on the surface of a lake. Flat stone skips along the surface and sinks with a splish. The skipping stone tossed by a boy, 13 years old. Awkward teen years have yet to begin. Clear blue sky above. Sun glistens on the water as it sets. The boy stands on a log in a loose at ease. He closes his eyes. Breathes deeply. Feels the peace and serenity of that moment.

The sky melts as night falls the sun has sunk into the lake. A clear night sky. Bright points of light. Stars. A streak. Shooting star.
Make a wish. Was that- Was that a girl's voice? At a Boy Scout Camp? The Boy Scout opens his eyes and turns his head to see a girl in a plaid dress, long curly hair. She seems tall for her age.
"Who are you?"

"The question is 'Who are you?' and more importantly 'Why are you here?' A deep masculine voice. Not the voice of the cute girl with dark eyes.

"Dude," another male voice, "You have to come out here. You'll love it."

And another male this one with a sassy feminine twist.
"My Children, you have all come to be because I can tell you what your other teachers and parents will not tell because they only see this so called "real world." But their world is an a illusion. The real world lies underneath the real world- the real world is the world of magic, dreams, planes of existence where everthing is connected as if by invisible glowing wires. It's time to wake up."

Star Wars main theme plays somewhere. There is a mountain of clothes and books and action figures and a bed which has been stripped of sheets, blankets leaving the empty mattress. A hand reaches out from the pile. Grasps a cellphone- the source of the music. The hand pulls the phone into the mass.

"Hullo."
"Hey buddy."
"Hey, Chris."
"What are you up to?"
"Nuthin."
"Do you have work today?"
"No. Didn't go in. Called out.
"You have to stop doing that. That job is your gimmick. It's your life-force man. When are you coming out?"
"Dunno. Don't have enough munny saved. I dunno. Don't feel good."
"You have to pull yourself out of this shit. It's not going to do you any good to wallow in this pit of shit. The more you think and focus on how shitty you feel the more it will consume you. Make a goal to come out here. Even if it's just to visit. I'm telling you it's beautiful. Adriana's out here, me, Kristen- we just found out that our neighbors went to U/ARTs. Everyone's coming out here, man. This is the place to be."

"California?"
"California."
Sings, "Cali-forn- I - aaaaay!"

"Alright, that's better. Hey. Hey, Brett. Adriana's here she wants to talk to you."

"Heyy, Brett."
An image of the girl in the red jumper swims back to the surface of his mind.
"Hey, Adriana, I just- I had a dream about you."
"Oh really? That's cool."
"It was weird, we were kids, like 12 or 13. Middle school age. One of the worst times of my life. Kind of like now."
"That's weird, that was my grammer school out fit. The red plaid uniform."
"But- I never told you what you were wearing- oh yeah, I forgot- psychic girl."
"Hey, when are you coming to visit? You'll love it here. It's always sunny, it's a good neighborhood."
"Not sure. I want to come. I just have to figure out when. Maybe in March around my birthday."
"That sounds like a good idea. Well, I have to hang up. We have to keep our costs down on long distance calls."
"Okay. Talk to you later."
"Bye."
Bye, buddy. See you soon alright?

"Yeah. See ya. Bye.

Beep.

Darkness enfolds him.